The Inn at Angel Island by Thomas Kinkade

she said quietly. When Fran Tulley first told her about the island’s planned development, Liza thought it was a good thing, a lucky break that would make the inn more marketable. But now that she was back and had gotten to know the island again, with sand in her shoes and salt breezes tangling her hair, she wasn’t so sure. She could see Daniel’s side of it, too. Some things—some places—were meant to stay wild and rough. They didn’t need to be “improved.”
    But who would stop it? The plan had already been set into motion. She gave herself a mental shake. She would be leaving in a little over a week. No sense getting all caught up in a battle she couldn’t fight.
    “So, when will you start painting?” she asked, changing the subject.
    “The clapboard needs to dry out for about two days. And we have to do some prep work—scrape a bit more and fill in some cracks. You said you didn’t want a perfect job, so we’re not going to go crazy on that phase.”
    “That’s right, just the minimum will be fine.”
    “One coat of primer, one coat of paint. It’s all in the contract . . .” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out an envelope. “That’s why I came in here in the first place. You made me lose track.”
    He smiled at her, and she knew that he hadn’t meant it in a bad way.
    Liza pulled open the envelope. The letterhead at the top of the page read “Merritt General Contracting” in large bold letters. Very official sounding, considering it was just him and a helper.
    She scanned the contract. Everything they had discussed over the phone seemed to be written down, and the price was the same as well. But she did need a few minutes to read it over carefully. Without him staring at her. That was definitely distracting.
    “Do you need this back right away? I’d like to take a minute later and read it carefully.”
    “Sure, take your time. No rush.” He sat back in his seat. “How is the clearing-out process going? Is Claire letting you throw anything away?”
    Liza smiled at him. “We have a magic question. It helps a lot.”
    “A magic question. That sounds interesting. I could use one of those.” He smiled curiously, looking extremely charming. “Can you disclose this magic question—or will that ruin the magic?”
    Liza laughed. She knew she was flirting with him, pretty obviously now, but she couldn’t help it.
    “I don’t think it will ruin the magic. I mean, I hope not. It’s really pretty simple. Whenever we get stuck trying to decide what to do with something, one person asks the other, ‘Save, discard, or give away?’ ”
    “And the other person has to answer?”
    Liza nodded. “That’s right. It’s sort of a game, I guess. It certainly makes the work go faster.”
    “That’s a good thing, then. But I’d bet that Claire mostly answers ‘save,’ ” he replied with a grin. “I do know she likes to hang on to things until they’re just about falling apart in your hands. You should have seen the broom she handed me one day to sweep up some sawdust.” He leaned closer, aware that the housekeeper might be around. Liza leaned closer, too, suddenly very conscious of his nearness. “It hardly had two straws left in it. I was standing there, sweeping the thin air.”
    She could picture it. Especially from what she’d seen yesterday. She laughed at the story, and he did, too.
    “What are you two laughing about—something in the newspaper?” Claire came into the kitchen, and they quickly sat back and exchanged a look.
    “It’s Mayor Warwick,” Daniel answered, quickly covering their tracks. “She’s always running around, getting herself in the newspaper. Her daughter doesn’t even work for the Messenger anymore, and she’s still on the front page every day.”
    “She does a lot of good for the town of Cape Light,” Claire replied, defending the mayor. “People will vote for her again if she runs next fall.”
    “For the tenth time, you mean?” Daniel